


the transitive property

by novoaa1



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Banter, Bellweather Unit Unity, But she totally is, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Scylla Ramshorn Feels, Scylla Ramshorn needs a hug, Scylla Ramshorn-centric, Soft Scylla Ramshorn, as they should - Freeform, cause that girl deserves some good things u feel, especially when raelle's gone, except seh tries to act like she's not soft, making creeps bleed, mother hen abigail bellweather, not anything nearly graphic though, or like. at least friends, pov scylla ramshorn, scylla finding a family! ish, scylla ramshorn is bad at self-care, tally craven being too pure for this world, what about it, yes i am a scylla apologist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25760476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Scylla valiantly fights the urge to roll her eyes. “I think I liked it better when you hated me.”“‘Hate' is a strong word,” Abigail muses loftily, twirling her fork in one hand. “Dislike? Absolutely.”“Abi,” Tally hisses, elbowing the girl in the ribs. “Don’t be rude.”“She did it first!”Or: Scylla's used to being an outsider, the one that doesn't belong. But maybe... maybe she doesn't have to be.
Relationships: Abigail Bellweather & Raelle Collar & Tally Craven, Abigail Bellweather & Scylla Ramshorn, Abigail Bellweather & Tally Craven, Abigail Bellweather & Tally Craven & Scylla Ramshorn, Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 27
Kudos: 234





	1. the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> i WILL proofread this dude i promise . am just... tired. and the boy in the room next to me won't stop playing his saxophone
> 
> idk dude just had this idea cause i'm a scylla apologist first and a person second and i just want her to have nice things 
> 
> this one's heavier on dialogue (i wanted to work on it cause i'm not super great at it) so definitely lemme know waht u think! comments make my entire day :)

Scylla’s always been something of an outlier. A floater. Something—some _one_ , rather—that doesn’t belong.

And she’s made her peace with that. She really has. 

But sometimes… well. Sometimes, she’ll admit it gets a little irksome. (Read: hurtful.)

Sure, her conventional good looks and decent capacity for sociability when necessary serve her just fine in the ‘dating’ arena, but everyone dumps her like a sack of hot potatoes the second they learn the cost of acquainting themselves with the likes of her. Well, everyone, that is, except for Raelle. 

Still, the point being—she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have relationships, nor does she have acquaintances unless they’re after something—usually sex, because she’s the farthest thing from rich, and her connections are (as mentioned) basically nonexistent. 

And sure, maybe Raelle Collar is an exception. Maybe Raelle isn’t using her for sex, or because she’s scared of being alone. Maybe, just maybe, Raelle’s the kind of person to stay. (For obvious reasons, she’s loathe to believe such a thing.)

Everyone else, though? Yeah, they’re pretty much exactly what Scylla’s come to expect. (Though it doesn’t make it hurt any less.)

For starters, Anacostia has certainly made no qualms about her less-than-fuzzy sentiment towards her. To Anacostia, Scylla's nothing more than a distraction. A nuisance, really; one that directly endangers Raelle’s hugely important… destiny, or whatever. 

Abigail doesn’t like her. (Though, to be fair, Abigail barely even likes _Raelle_ , and they’re together day in and day out, training to become the perfect unit.)

Tally… well, Tally is Tally. She’s polite whenever they’re forced to interact (which thankfully isn’t all that often), but she doesn’t _like_ Scylla. Not by a long shot. Really, were it not for Raelle, she knows damn well Abigail and Tally wouldn’t bother giving her the time of day. 

(In Abigail’s case especially, the tall take-no-shit Bellweather girl would likely even go out of her way to make Scylla’s life at Fort Salem more miserable than it’d been to begin with.)

All the other cadets are much the same. 

There’s a small handful that make it a point to be outwardly rude to her from time to time, but for the most part, they all seem more or less content to just leave her be. It’s as if everyone somehow knows just by looking at her that she’s no good; that she’s inconsequential and contemptible and _worthless_ beyond measure.

When she was a kid, she used to joke that she was born with a ‘Kick me’ sign taped to her back. 

(True or not, the joke doesn’t feel nearly as funny anymore.)

But, it’s fine. 

This is simply how things are. It’s how they’ve always been, and Scylla’s never been one for running herself ragged trying to change what can’t be changed; to fix what just _is_.

It hurts, but it’s okay. 

It has to be. 

— — 

The first time it happens, she’s pretty sure it’s a fluke. 

She’s trotting along the outskirts of the forest, already a couple minutes late for her class over on the west side of the barracks. Her features are perhaps a little paler than usual (or, at least, they had been when she’d checked her reflection this morning), and there’s a fresh split in her lower lip that she swipes with her tongue every couple minutes or so to ensure it doesn’t bleed too much.

“Necro!” Abigail Bellweather calls, jogging over with a slightly-flushed Tally Craven in tow despite the rest of their peers continuing on their run in the opposite direction. “You look like shit.”

“High Atlantic,” Scylla responds in kind, schooling her features into something that (hopefully) resembles a sufficiently standoffish expression. “Charming as ever.”

“Okay, first of all—you two, chill,” Tally pants out, wiping the sweat from her forehead and turning to fix Scylla with knitted brows. “Secondly, what the hell happened to _you_ ?”

“Hold it,” Scylla interjects. “What’s… happening here?” she asks, gesturing vaguely in a triangular motion between the three of them. “I’m pretty sure this is the first time either of you have actually acknowledged my existence of your own accord.”

“That’s not true,” Tally protests weakly. 

Scylla flashes her a skeptical look, and a slight flush colors Tally’s cheeks. 

“Look, Thing 2—" _‘Thing 2’_ ?! “Raelle is… impulsive and reckless and _Raelle_ , but she’s ours, okay? And you’re hers, so you’re ours, now, too.”

“Ooh, transitive property. Nice one, Abs.”

“I’m so confused right now.”

“Whatever,” Abigail interjects, waving a dismissive hand through the air. "Point is—you’re our problem, now, too. Whether we like it or not.” 

“Aw. That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“Do you really have to make this so hard?”

“Yes.”

Abigail heaves a quiet sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just tell us what in the _hell_ happened to your face.”

“I fell,” Scylla says. (It’s nauseating how easily the lie rolls off her tongue.) 

“Yeah, right,” Abigail snorts. 

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Did someone hurt you?” Tally questions gently, a thoughtful crease between her brows. Scylla hates the pity she hears in her voice. 

“I _said_ , I _fell_.”

Abigail crosses her arms beneath her chest. “And _I_ say, you’re _lying_.” 

There’s a tense silence. 

“I don’t have time for this,” Scylla announces eventually, the tip of her tongue darting out reflexively to lap at the coppery blood gathering along her lower lip. “I’m late.”

With that, she runs off—from the edge of the woods and out across the open field, dizziness hanging heavy like a rain-laden cloud in her mind. 

“No running!” Abigail yells after her, the sound of her voice dwindling with every stride. “You’re gonna pass out, you idiot!”

“What she said!"

Scylla ignores them and picks up her pace. 

— — 

Later that day, it happens again. 

Scylla’s on her own at a vacant lunch table, staring down at a tray of gelatinous meatloaf (gross), when—

“Necro!” Abigail Bellweather greets, setting her tray down directly across from Scylla and taking a seat. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Tally’s greeting is significantly less aggravating. “Hi, Scylla!” the perky girl chirps, following Abigail’s lead (as always) and plopping down next to the taller girl, tray in hand. “Long time, no see.”

Scylla just raises a single brow, feigning disinterest. “Where’s Rae?”

“Late, probably,” Abigail says with a shrug. “So, care to finally tell us why your face is even more jacked up than usual?”

“Still not letting that go, are we?”

“Nope.”

“I think I liked it better when you hated me.”

“‘Hate' is a strong word,” Abigail muses loftily, twirling her fork in one hand. “Dislike? Absolutely.”

“Abi,” Tally hisses, elbowing the girl in the ribs. “Don’t be rude.”

“She did it first!”

“I don’t _care_ that she did it first.”

Despite herself, Scylla feels a genuine grin creeping its way onto her features as she watches the two girls continue to bicker back and forth, utterly relentless in their needling but unmistakably good-natured just the same. 

(She could get used to this. 

That terrifies her more than anything.)

— —


	2. payback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i still can't sleep so i'm adding more. i think i drank too much coffee
> 
> but hey the kid stopped playing his saxophone so there's that! it's the little things :)

Raelle’s barely made it over to their lunch table before Abigail is opening her gigantic mouth and giving a full (entirely unsolicited) status report like the absolute narc she is:

“Your girlfriend split her lip and said she fell but she’s definitely lying even though she won’t admit it. Heal her, please.”

Scylla valiantly fights against the urge to slam herself face-first down on the tabletop even as Raelle slides deftly into place beside her with a concerned look upon her pretty features. 

“I’m _fine_.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Tally pipes up ever-so-helpfully, words muffled by a mouthful of jelly meatloaf. 

“She’s even more stubborn than you, shitbird,” Abigail adds. “And _that’s_ saying something.”

Raelle frowns, snaking an arm around Scylla’s waist and guiding her chin to look her dead in the eye. “What happened, baby?”

Scylla’s cheeks burn under the tender consideration. (She blames that for her ensuing candor.) “Some girl took a cheap shot while we were sparring. It’s not a big deal, Rae, really.”

Raelle nods, though it’s clear she doesn’t at all believe her. “Ask, and it shall be given,” she begins, brows furrowed in concentration. “Seek, and—"

“No!” Scylla interjects, pleading wordlessly with her eyes and pointedly ignoring the smug look from Abigail she can feel burning a hole in the side of her skull. “No, I don’t want you to take this on.”

“Because it hurts, doesn’t it?” Abigail taunts, self-satisfaction positively dripping from her tone. 

Scylla really misses when the two of them were constantly at each other’s throats. “Fine,” she huffs, turning to shoot Abigail a half-hearted glare. “Yes, okay? It hurts. Happy now?”

Abigail smirks. “Ecstatic.”

“What’s the girl’s name?” Tally asks, her typically kind gaze narrowed. 

Scylla sighs. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Obviously."

“Duh.”

Scylla purses her lips, relenting—clearly, the three of them aren’t quitting any time soon. “Cecilia, I think? Like I said, it doesn’t—"

“Last name?” Raelle questions. There’s a dangerous, almost _steely_ quality to her tone that sends a shiver down Scylla’s spine and tells her she’d do well to cooperate here. 

“… Caponi.”

“Wonderful. That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

Scylla clenches her jaw. “Shut it, Bellweather.”

— — 

“So,” Scylla begins, shutting the door behind Raelle and flashing her a provocative smirk. “Cecilia Caponi showed up to the evening demonstration with a broken nose.”

“Really?” Raelle questions, her voice at least an octave higher than usual. “That’s crazy.”

“Is it?” Scylla questions, stalking towards her like a predator would its prey. 

Raelle, for her part, apprehensively backs away step for step as if waiting for Scylla to pounce, an adorably nervous expression upon her features all the while. “I, um… Yeah, I mean. T-Talk about a c-coincidence, right?”

“A coincidence, hm?” Scylla asks, grinning wolfishly (and completely uncaring for the way it stings her split lip). Raelle abruptly stops, the backs of her knees pressed flush against the edge of the mattress.

“Y-… Yes?” 

Scylla huffs out a breathy chuckle, closing the distance between them within seconds and nudging the tip of Raelle’s button nose with her own. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“T-Telling you. Definitely,” Raelle stammers out. 

Scylla shoves her down by the shoulders, grin widening at the murmured _“Oof!”_ she lets out when her butt hits the mattress. 

“Excuse me if I’m not terribly convinced.”

Raelle squirms, pale cheeks flushed. 

Scylla crosses her arms beneath her chest, staring down at her with raised brows. “Take your time, sweetie,” she coos, only half in jest. 

“Okay, fine!” Raelle blurts, red in the face, hands gesturing wildly about. “I may have… punchedherintheface.”

“Come again?”

“I… punchedherintheface.”

“One more time? Slower would be good.”

Raelle groans. “I… punched her,” she manages through gritted teeth, a pained grimace twisting her features. "In the face.”

Scylla giggles at that, sinking down to straddle her atop the sheets, arms curled around her neck. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Raelle pushes her lips out in an adorable pout that has an all-too-familiar kind of warmth burgeoning unbidden in Scylla’s chest. “You’re evil.”

Scylla feels something twist unpleasantly in her gut. ( _If only Raelle knew_ … )

“Scyl? Hey, Scyl?” 

Raelle’s worried voice pulls her back into reality. 

She ducks her head and gives her very best abashed smile. “Sorry, Rae. I, um… spaced out there for a sec.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

Scylla raises a single brow. “Why would I be mad?”

“Well, y’know… ‘cause I punched Cecilia’s lights out.”

“Eh.” Scylla shrugs. “She deserved it.” She strokes her fingers along the nape of Raelle’s neck, delighting in the way it makes her shudder. “My hero."

“Well, I can’t take all the credit,” Raelle amends bashfully, her precious blush from earlier returning with a renewed vigor. "Abi and Tal helped."

_That_ has Scylla very nearly choking on her own tongue. “They _what_?”

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flustered / slightly abashed raelle was actually lit to write . what a hopeless gay idiot


	3. creep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wakes slowly, to a throbbing headache and fast-paced bickering from above. 
> 
> “This is _so_ not my fault,” one haughty voice says. 
> 
> “You knocked out Raelle's girlfriend!” the other protests. “She’s gonna _kill_ us!"
> 
> “It was an accident!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally did not sleep because i could not but now i will eat breakfast adn finally go to sleep. enjoy this extra chap i pulled out of my ass in a haze of sleep deprivation and ill-timed inspiration 
> 
> if there are any glaring errors please tell me i have a very serious condition called Dumb Bitch Disease that makes me extremely resistant to proofreading anything i write ever out of sheer laziness

The next incidence, while somewhat more understandable, is no less stupefying. 

It’s another of those ‘special occasions’ at Fort Salem—all-you-can-eat buffets, drunken teenaged irresponsibility galore… _boys_. 

‘Memorial Day,’ or something—though Scylla hardly sees how that necessitates all of… _this_.

Still, she supposes she can’t quite complain. Special occasions like these mean a variety of decidedly wonderful things—Raelle dressed to the nines (usually in a dapper suit), fancy-as-hell food that tastes as if it’s literally been gifted from the heavenly Goddess herself, a much-needed break for both she and Raelle from their respective duties around the barracks. (And, sure, she supposes that the free champagne doesn’t hurt, either.)

The reception is lovely—indoors; understated and elegant. 

Raelle’s run off to fetch some drinks, Abigail is ~~ass-kissing~~ , ahem, _socializing_ with the higher-ranking officiants in attendance; meanwhile, Scylla and Tally are on a mission all their own: plucking sizable portions of everything that looks even remotely good from a dozen tables positively overflowing with mouth-watering treats, the ultimate goal being to acquire enough goodies to share amongst the four of them.

She’s halfway through filling her second plate with honest-to-Goddess mini cheeseburgers with tiny skewers through the middle when it happens. 

“Hey,” comes a low, masculine-sounding voice from right beside her accompanied by an irritatingly bold touch warm upon her elbow. 

She damn near fumbles her plates, but quickly regains her composure—inching away from his hand and turning to face him. 

He’s cute, she supposes, in a shy-boy sort of way: floppy raven-black hair, defined jawline, freckles spattered across tawny cheeks. He’s tall, too—5’10”, if Scylla has to guess, and she’s forced to crane her neck just to look him in the eye. 

“I’m Jason,” he continues on, a lopsided grin curving his thin lips, brown eyes raking up and down her figure in a way that can’t be interpreted as anything other than lecherous. (She mentally discards her earlier ’shy-boy’ assumption.)

“Cool,” Scylla says flatly, doing her very best to ignore him. Instead, she focuses all her energy on hastily piling more mini cheeseburgers onto her plate—the sooner she finishes and can leave this boy’s presence, the better.

“And you are… ?”

Scylla turns briefly to flash him an unamused look. “Taken.”

He shrugs, reaching forth to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Doesn’t bother me. I’m game if you are, cutie.”

She lurches back quickly, such that his fingers only manage to graze her cheek. (Still, the brief touch is enough to make her skin crawl.) “Don’t.”

“What’s the matter?” he questions, making a miffed face at her as if _she’s_ the one in the wrong here. "I’m just playin’.”

“Yeah, well… Don’t.”

With that, she turns on her heel and speed-walks away, barely taking notice of the one or two cheeseburgers that fly off the edge of her plate along the way. 

She thinks she hears him mutter something like “Frigid bitch,” under his breath as she makes her quick escape, but she can’t be sure. 

_Creep_.

— — 

A glass of champagne later (and many kisses stolen from her beautiful girlfriend, who just so happens to be wearing a whole charcoal-grey three-piece _suit_ ) sees her traipsing off in search of the bathrooms down the hall. 

It’s just her luck that the very moment she gets there, a familiar face ambles out the men’s restrooms just opposite the ladies’—Jacob. Or… whatever his name was. 

“Hey, cutie,” he drawls, coming to face her head-on in the relatively narrow corridor—intentionally blocking her way. “We never got to finish that conversation earlier.”

“I told you, I’m not interested,” Scylla says firmly, though the way her heart begins to pound in her ribcage luridly betrays the ice-cold fear crawling up her throat. "Now, please let me through.”

He frowns, pretending to think about it for a second. “Tell you what.” His crooked smirk spreads into a dopey white-toothed grin. “Gimme a kiss, and I’ll consider it.”

_Fucking hell_. “You know what? I don’t really need to pee anymore,” she says, turning swiftly on her heel and—

A large, calloused palm tightly gripping her upper arm stops her mid-stride, and suddenly she can’t help but wish to be anywhere but here.

“Hey,” he protests, blunt anger rising in his garbled tone. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

She turns to face him with a heavy-browed glare; attempts to yank her arm forcibly from his steely grip only to wince when it tightens around her goose-pimpled flesh like a vice. 

“Let go of me,” she demands, hating the way her voice trembles. (Idly, she wonders if she’ll wake with a bruise tomorrow.) “ _Now_.”

A lot happens in the next second or so, then. 

Scylla hears a quiet murmuring from the end of the corridor directly behind her; a high-pitched frequency like a deafening feedback loop blares in her head; Jacob falls to the ground at her feet, clutching at his skull and gritting his teeth, quite obviously in a great deal of pain. 

And then… well. 

Then, things go black. 

— — 

She wakes slowly, to a throbbing headache and fast-paced bickering from above. 

“This is _so_ not my fault,” one haughty voice says. 

“You knocked out Raelle's girlfriend!” the other protests. “She’s gonna _kill_ us!"

“It was an accident!”

“Yeah, ‘cause _you_ were the genius that decided to try a spell we’ve _never practiced before_. Thanks for the heads-up, by the way.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Scylla passed out! What do you _mean_ , ‘it worked’?! It most certainly did _not_ —”

Scylla groans, unable to form words but hoping that the discontented noise will be enough to make them just _stop_.

“Holy shit, she’s awake.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Tal. For Goddess’ sake, it’s not like we _killed_ her.” 

“The boy was bleeding from his _ears_ , Abs.”

“And? His creeper ass deserved it.”

“… Fair point.”

A third voice joins, then. Distant, but familiar— _safe_ … though, the way it’s yelling is anything but. “What the _hell_ did you do to my girlfriend?!”

“I didn’t do it!”

“Traitor.”

“Well, it wasn’t _my_ idea, now, was it?”

The safe-but-not-safe voice comes from notably closer this time, quivering with raw emotion. “Someone better tell me what the fuck is going on, _right now_ ,” it demands. 

_I’m fine_ , Scylla tries to say. It doesn’t work. 

“Look, shitbird, cool your jets; we can _totally_ explain… "

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the unit trying to do functional things but fucking it up while just barely not managing to fuck the entire thing up beyond repair is just one of my favorite things okay
> 
> also in my brain the reason scylla didn't blast his ass the moment he laid hands on her was because the use of seeds or any magic is forbidden at special occasions like these,,,, which obviously tally and abi didn't give a single Fuck about because their shitbird no. 2 was in trouble
> 
> but i was too tired to write that in . maybe in the next chapter (if there is one)


	4. a = c

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Predictably, Abigail’s the first to speak: “So, here’s what’s gonna happen: we’re gonna help you clean your room, and then we’re _all_ ,” she gestures emphatically at all of them in turn, “going down to the mess hall for dinner.” At that, Scylla opens her mouth to object, but Abigail swiftly beats her to it. “Non-negotiable.”
> 
> “I hear they have Jell-O today,” Tally adds. 
> 
> Scylla fights the urge to heave a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls tell me if there are any errors i like didn't sleep and now am go to sleep :)

In the blink of an eye, two months' time has passed—more than half of which she’s spent lingering in Raelle’s charismatic orbit. Six weeks spent falling asleep night after night curled securely in her warm embrace, exchanging kisses and kindness and “I love you”s beneath the impartial light of day like this isn’t mission-oriented so much as it is entirely indulgent… like this isn't business, but rather, _pleasure_.

To make matters worse, she’s beginning to put down roots. She’s beginning to forge meaningful bonds with those around her—Raelle in particular, of course, but Tally and Abigail, too (much to her chagrin). 

They’re like leeches on her skin—drinking the very blood from her veins until she’s lightheaded; their very presence douses the flames of her resentment in extinguishing waters, depletes her hunger for vengeance with a relentless vigor that leaves her altogether terrified she’ll never get it back. 

And the worst part? It doesn’t even hurt. 

Quite the opposite, actually… which is precisely what makes it so damn dangerous. 

— — 

Raelle leaves at shit o’clock on a Friday morning for a three-day Fixers-only weekend retreat about three miles west of Fort Salem. 

She slips out of bed before Scylla can wake to see to her go, but she leaves an adorable note behind explaining that she couldn’t find the heart to wake Scylla from what looked to be such a peaceful sleep. Scylla supposes she can absolve her for that. 

When Scylla finally rouses herself, it’s just past 7:00, and she already misses Raelle like a gaping hole in her chest she knows will wreck her without cause if she isn’t careful. (As much as it hurts now, she knows it’ll fucking devastate her later on, when push comes to shove and Scylla’s forced to be the one to make her go, because maybe she loves Raelle more than her own life but for once it won’t be worth a damn, not while Willa’s the one pulling her strings.)

She spends the allotted time for breakfast bordering on tears in her room, alone in a strange and terrible place that doesn’t feel like hers anymore. 

— — 

It hurts her a hell of a lot more than it should, Raelle being away. It grates on her like a sharpened blade upon a whetstone, chipping away at her weakened resolve in a truly relentless charge until all that’s left is a painfully raw truth she’s loathe to concede: that Scylla is lost without her.

Scylla can’t afford that. Because if Scylla is lost without Raelle, then that means she _needs_ her. That means… That means she can’t _do_ this—can’t lie and kill in service of The Spree; can’t bring Raelle back to a place she doesn’t quite trust to have her best interests at heart; can’t make the untimely deaths of her murdered parents mean something, because at this point, she’s not quite sure they ever will. 

It’s too much. 

It’s all too much, and Scylla can’t think about it. She _won’t_.

She talks to Annika down the hall (a fellow Necro and the go-to girl for smuggling all things contraband into the barracks) about getting some liquid caffeine, and she comes through by early afternoon—a 12-pack of Monster Energy. Not Scylla's first choice (by _any_ means), but it’ll have to do. 

To her credit, she _tries_ sleeping that night. It doesn’t come easy (or at all, really), and 2:52am sees her rolling out of bed, cracking open a can of Monster, and getting to work. 

Lucky for her, she has quite a lot of it. 

Most of it isn’t due until Monday (or later), but she throws herself into it head-first like it is, because if she doesn’t, she’ll start thinking, and she really can’t afford to fall apart right now. 

7:30am sees blinding rays of morning sunlight streaming in through the single window in her room, illuminating a train wreck of a scene: her, cross-legged upon her floor, surrounded in inked-up sheets of paper and empty Monster cans all around. Her hands tremble as she scrawls last-minute notes onto the proposal for an admittedly non-work-related project, and she finds herself staring a little too hard at perfectly normal words like ‘white’ and ‘requires’ and ‘once,’ because suddenly they don’t seem quite so normal any longer. They look misspelled—out of place, _wrong_. 

(Idly, the last still-functioning piece of Scylla’s brain humors the possibility that she’s projecting here.) 

At 9:30 she scrambles to her feet only to nearly collapse back onto the floor, swaying on her feet, vision blackening around the edges. She barely makes it over to the bed before she’s flopping herself belly-first onto the mattress, then falling almost immediately into a fitful sleep. 

She wakes at 12:37pm from a nightmare that feels a little close to reality for her comforts, and sneaks down to the dining hall to grab a quick bite to eat. 

She knows Abigail and Tally won’t be there (they always eat at 11:00), but she makes it quick all the same—fixes herself a Caesar salad without dressing (because she thinks she’ll vomit if she tries eating anything else), a half-glass of water. She even grabs a handful of bananas and non-perishable ration bars for later, as she already knows damn well she won’t be sleeping tonight. 

Annika drops a four-pack of Red Bull by her room on her way down to dinner, which is good, because Scylla’s beginning to run low on Monster. 

It’s another long and sleepless night (and _not_ in the good way), but she makes do. 

She catches a couple hours of sleep between 5:00 and 8:00, and another hour around lunchtime. 

Her hands shake, her eyes burn, and there’s a very painful cramp in her left quad that nags her all day long (which makes absolutely zero sense, since the last time she had fitness training with her unit was on Thursday). 

3:00pm rolls around, and her room is an absolute wreck: ration bar wrappers and various scribbled-on papers and crumpled energy drink cans littered everywhere. There are bags under her eyes and a deadened look in her gaze when she checks her reflection in the mirror (the very same one she’s been avoiding ~~for obvious reasons~~ ). Her hair is flat, beginning to lose its healthy shine; she’ll definitely need to have herself a shower some time within the next day or so. (For now, though, a couple swipes of deodorant and a set of fresh clothes will have to do.)

She looks like shit, and feels about a hundred times worse, but Raelle is still gone and her chest aches something awful and maybe it’s not just about keeping busy (because she’s proven herself quite adept at doing that over the past couple days)—maybe it’s about punishing herself, too. 

For lying. For letting Raelle (and Tally and Abigail) believe she’s redeemable when she’s not. For coming into Fort Salem and carving out a place for herself in Raelle’s life, knowing all the while that she’d be the one bashing it to pieces at the very end of things.

A harsh thumping on her door startles her out of her thoughts, making her flinch where she sits cross-legged atop the floor. 

_What the_ —

"I swear to the Goddess herself, Necro—you better be dead, dying, or currently brainstorming a damn good apology to give for hanging us out to dry the past couple days!” Abigail’s demanding, no-nonsense tone filters through the wooden door, and Scylla has to fight the inane urge to giggle.

Instead, she gets up to her feet (and pointedly ignores the black spots dancing in her vision, knowing they’ll eventually recede) and staggers towards the door. 

“ _Now_ , Necro! I don’t have all d—"

She flips the lock, hearing the solid _click_ of the deadbolt, then steps aside and waits patiently. 

She doesn’t have to wait for very long. 

Less than a second passes, and an enraged Abigail comes charging through the door with a murderous expression and a concerned-looking Tally hot on her heels. 

“Scylla!” Tally greets happily when she catches sight of her, though the toothy grin quickly fades from her features as she takes in the disastrous state of the room around her. “What—"

“Have you lost your freaking mind?” Abigail demands, arms crossed stubbornly beneath her chest. 

Scylla sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’s way too tired for this. “I’ve sorta been busy, High Atlantic.”

“I can see that.”

They’re all silent for a long moment. 

Predictably, Abigail’s the first to speak: “So, here’s what’s gonna happen: we’re gonna help you clean your room, and then we’re _all_ ,” she gestures emphatically at all of them in turn, “going down to the mess hall for dinner.” At that, Scylla opens her mouth to object, but Abigail swiftly beats her to it. “Non-negotiable.”

“I hear they have Jell-O today,” Tally adds. 

Scylla fights the urge to heave a sigh. 

“And then, you’re coming back to our room for the night. You can stay in Raelle’s bunk. Don’t even _think_ about arguing, Ramshorn, because you look like you went through a trash compactor, and I can tell you haven’t been sleeping. Capisce?”

Scylla doesn’t even have the energy to do anything but nod. “Okay.”

— — 

Later that night, when it’s dark out and the lights are off and they’re all crawling into their respective bunks, Abigail grumbles, “You’re shit at taking care of yourself, Necro.”

“Abs,” Tally chastises sleepily from overhead, though there’s very little venom in it. 

Scylla feels herself smile, Raelle’s scent curling its way around her like a warm embrace—like home. “I know.”

“That’s why you have us, though, ‘kay? Shitbird may not be here right now, but you’re still ours.”

“Transitive property, back at it again.”

“It’s not the transitive property, Tal.”

“Um, yes it is.”

“Not.”

“Is!”

“ _Not_."

“If A is equal to B, and B is equal to C, then A must also be equal to C.”

A heavy sigh. “I know what the transitive property is."

“Well, evidently, you _don’t_." Tally’s voice sounds far less fatigued as it comes from the top bunk, righteous indignation rising in her tone. "‘Cause the part where A = B is us loving Rae, right? And the B = C part is Rae loving Scylla. And then, Rae loving Scylla and us loving Rae means that we love Scylla, too. A = C. Boom! Transitive property.”

“… That actually makes a little bit of sense,” Abigail admits begrudgingly, punctuating her sentence with an audible yawn. “Not bad, Craven.”

“Told ya."

(Scylla burrows a little further into Raelle’s wool blankets listening to the two of them exchange friendly banter, her heart thumping against her ribcage, her cheeks flushed with something that’s a little too close to genuine affection for her comforts. 

It’s still scary, but it’s comforting, too—warm in a way that has little to do with the woolen blankets bundled snugly around her and everything to do with that curious sense of fondness blossoming steadily in her chest, growing with every shared laugh and chance encounter and stolen moment so damn near close to perfect it’s a wonder how she got this far without them. Hell, even volleying insults with High Atlantic stems far closer to her battered heart than she’d like to admit. 

She feels safe when she drifts off into sleep that night, cocooned in warm blankets that smell like pinewood and Raelle and _home_. She feels… cared for. 

Tally’s mattress creaks audibly overhead every time the girl adjusts, and Abigail’s breathing makes a noise that’s not quite snoring but not _not_ snoring from the opposite side of the room—and there is nowhere else that Scylla would rather be. 

Transitive property, indeed.)

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this might be where i leave it . like the end ? i'm not sure though (i never am) 
> 
> definitely let me know your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts?
> 
> (my [tumblr](https://psyches.co.vu/) or just search me up @ultralightdumbass to come talk to me there!)


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